On the Other Side
by Rebeth
Summary: What happens when an unfortunate event crosses his life and leaves him all alone? Without friends or a helping hand - who's going to help him solve his biggest problem in his whole lifetime? Spy had been bored lately, but in hindsight, would he ever accept that kind of entertainment if he knew it would come to him in such way?
1. Chapter 1

The day was sunny. Sunny with occasional brave cloud who dared enough to interrupt the otherwise spotless, blue sky. Despite the weather being so charmingly summer-ish, it wasn't so hot. There was a soft breeze blowing throughout the place. Birds circling up above the buildings were chirping, sometimes interrupted by swearin- screami- gun sho-?

 _Bomb detonations?_

The mercenaries were doing their best, trying to take each other's intelligence, preferably not dying in the process. That wasn't something everyone could achieve but they were trying the hardest anyway. Soldier's and Demo's lunatical screaming alongside with the Scouts' brag-n-run represented the bigger part of the nearly unbearable noise.

And in the centre of this whole mess, the BLU Spy was having a blast.

He was cloaked, grinning like and idiot he certainly was _not_ over the fact he had been stalking the RED Soldier for solid half an hour and the man was starting to become more paranoid than ever. Sometimes, he would just scrape himself by the Soldier's arm or whisper faintly in his enemy's nearness. He would also make some more noise than usual while walking. One would thought that the Soldier would find out faster than that that the Spy was following him but to the frenchman's amusement, the RED was dumber than he actually thought he was.

Soldier's eye was twitching violently and he jerked with every silent shuffling of feet the frenchman did. He was haunted. Haunted by his ancestors. Haunted by the American Spirit. The Holy Eagleness. He shouldn't have eaten the sandwich Heavy offered him. It was communist sandwich. He should have known better.

"I'm sorry America, I have failed you!" howled the RED Soldier in agony.

Spy looked at his watch and saw he only had few seconds left. Despite how amused he was and was really eager to find out how far he had to go to be the cause of the RED's breakdown, he didn't have time for that. Spy moved behind the RED Soldier and waited for the cloak to disappear. It didn't take long and soon, he found himself leaning over the American's back, his knife stucked between the man's vertebra.

"Viva la Amérique," whispered the Spy to the RED's ear, dark grin spread across his hidden face while Soldier slumped on the rocky ground, genuinely suprised. The BLU retrieved his knife from the dead body and tactically retrieved to safety of the narrow, dark paths that only him and the RED Spy could use fully to their advantage.

It has been a good day so far. He managed to sap a few of the machines the Engineer erected (and the look on the RED's face always flattered him, knowing he did a good job), handed out quite a few backstabs and didn't encountered Pyro all day! Spy knew he… it was somewhere, he would occasionaly hear the creepy muffled giggling of that creature of hells, but as far as he hadn't been burned alive, it didn't bother him that much.

He raised a cigarette to his mouth and with a soft click of his lighter, Spy soon inhaled the smoke, making his nicotine need slowly fade away. He could help his team to steal the enemy's intelligence, maybe he would in the end but…

He was _bored._

For the past few weeks he felt the monotony of their work and started to get a little bit bored. Every day he would go here, kill as many REDs as possible and then retrieve back to his room and drink wine, read books he read a thousands of times before or talk with their Engineer, because he was the sanest person in the whole group and sometimes didn't act like an utter farm boy he once was.

Slowly, he had started to feel more and more bored with each passing day and with that became neglecting his work. There wasn't any sense in that. Any meaning. And he was certain there wouldn't be an end to this. There was always more intelligence to steal, more guns to try, not mentioning the ridiculous hats the company showered them with. What was the point with those hats anyway?

With his cigarette still disinterestedly hanging between his fingers, he made a way to a better spot, maybe somewhere he could see the battlefield. It was risky, sure, standing somewhere high, unprotected, unmoving. It literally called for being head…shot…ted…

"Of course," whispered BLU in an obvious tone. How could have he forget? He must have been bored lately for real or else he wouldn't forget that somewhere, the Sniper was hiding. And as far as he was digging through his today's memories, he didn't encountered (or purposely found) the Australian. And that was pretty sad as it was. He hated the man. So many backs left unstabbed just because the bushman shot his brain out. Always had to wait for the last seconds, had he. But Spy was bored today. And nothing could lift his mood like a good, slow and painful kill.

* * *

Sniper on the other hand, hadn't had the time of his life.

His aim was crappy that day and due to the constant pounding in his skull he couldn't even follow his targets. He now regretted ever agreeing to Scout's invitation to drink "a beer or two". They ended up completely wasted, Scout sleeping on the kitchen counter and Sniper in the showers, cold water running over him the whole night as he laid there like a thrown rugdoll.

He supressed the need to sneeze and followed the BLU Medic's head with his scope. Finger on the trigger, he breathed in. Breathed out. Narrowed his eyes and…

Oh for fuck's sake!

He jumped on his feet, his kukri in hand and sharply turned to face the man standing behind him. He heard the Spy's footsteps, a faint shuffle, nearly inaudible. But he knew. He had to deal with that damned frogface every now and then and he would as damn recognize when that bloke was onto him.

His head spun around like a bloody carousel, still hungover, he thought as his stomach made a few tumbles.

"Get the hell outta here, mate," growled the RED Sniper and shot dagger from his eyes to Spy's, trying to look like he had the situation under control. "I could've had a noice headshot here if ya sorry ass wouldn't crawl roight behind me." He lifted his hand, kukri in his tight grip and pointed it to the frenchman.

"'m giving ya one last chance to run to bloody hell, Frenchie, or else 'm gonnuuunggh!" he couldn't finish the sentence and had to block Spy's attack. The BLU spurted from his spot, balisong in his hand and aiming at the Australian's belly. Sniper dodged the attack with his kukri in the last second, the balisong's blade sliding to the side and leaving a shallow cut on his palm. He hissed slightly, more from surprise than from pain and curled his other hand into fist, aiming for the Frenchman's face. Spy dodged the attack and with graceful pirouette swung his feet into the air, right into the Sniper's jaw.

Sniper would have dodge the attack. It wasn't the fastest kick of them all.

But he had a hungover. And the last attempt to punch the brain out of the Spy left him pretty sick and dizzy.

The power with which Spy's foot collided with his head made him black out. He found himself on the floor seconds later, trying to focus his vision. He was disoriented, confused. His brain was starting itself so slowly he didn't even know where he was for a few seconds.

Looking at the Spy leaning above him, he let out a low, painful groan and closed his eyes again. He knew he was cornered and even if he wasn't, he was afraid to move. His head was one big balloon of agony and his stomach was giving up on him. He could either let the BLU finish him off or he could throw up on that smart-dressed man. Neither of these two were pleasant.

"Ya could at least make it quick," growled the RED glaring at the Spy. " 'm not exactly in the mood to play with ya all day long here."

"Obviously, I could," started the Spy, playing with his balisong, flipping it between his fingers "On zhe contrary, I couldn't be bozhered less, you see. I was 'aving a pretty… boring days lately, I was 'oping you could may be of some… _asseesstance_." He stopped his balisong at the instant, pointing it towards the Sniper.

"And I 'ave to say, zhe…" he looked thoughthfully up to the sky, like he was finding answers there. "… _freezkiness_ of yours, wizh your gun of course, left me in a very unpleasant humor. I decided to teach you some manners, bushman." He then slid with his eyes from the sky to his balisong and smiled, delighted. He lifted his hand slowly, imagining how he was going to gut the Australian slowly. He wondered what an odd feeling must it be, to look at one's own intestines. His hand stopped mid-air and then thrusted down to the RED's abdomen.

At the same time, an interestingly odd and… flat feeling settled in the centre of his ribcage. He felt the bushamn's blood on his hands, slow and hot. He didn't want to look yet, but when the feeling took his breath away, he had to.

Slowly, shifting his gaze from the sky, he recognized some things weren't right. Bushman had his kukri. His kukri was in unnatural height. And he couldn't see much of the kukri, as it was biting into his chest.

"Oh, merde," mumbled Spy, still in shock. "Quand avez-vous...?"

"When you were lookin' into the bloody sky, Spook…" mumbled the RED, tiredness clearly sounding from his voice. Spy might've been in a shock, but the Sniper wasn't. And the pain from the stab wound was nearly unbearable. He was surprised he wasn't screaming in agony right know, on the other hand, he was too tired for this right now.

"Ya shouln't've stop lookin' at me, ya bloody idiot," whispered the Sniper and then coughed. And again. The blood covered his chin and chest, as it spurted with speed from his body. It was so hard to breathe.

"As… ya always say… don't ever turn your back to the ene- Spook?" he stopped mid sentence and stared at the Frenchman in mixed confusion and disbelief.

The Spy was leaning over him, one hand still tightly clenched around the handle of balisong. His eyes were widened in shock, waiting for everything to be just a bad dream. Spy's chin was drenched in blood as well as his neck and tie, not mentioning the awfully expensive suit which was torn in the middle from the kukri and colored in crimson red, contrasting with the blue fabric.

He wasn't moving an inch, not speaking a word. Just staring at the kukri thrusted into his chest, holding onto it with his hand, his own dark blood slowly dripping down from his mouth.

The BLU Spy was dead.

"Ya… fuckin'… bastard… ya know… how painful… it is to… fuckin' try and… tell… ya…" Sniper tried so hard but had to stop as he watched the Spy being taken by the respawn, his body slowly fading into the thin air.

The RED felt his blood running away from his body through the wound where Spy's balisong was stuck just a seconds ago. So hard to breathe, as the excruciating feeling embraced his belly and chest, yet he took a deep breath when a wave of soothing warmth ran through him.

He closed his eyes and for a moment, Sniper had forgotten about the agonizing strikes that ran through his abdomen. Maybe just for a little while. Just another five minutes. Then I have to call the Medic.

Yes.

The Medic.

With that thought, the RED slumped into the sleepiness, and soon enough, respawn took him as well.

* * *

The BLU Scout burst into the respawn room seconds after the machine spitted out the Spy. There was a frickin' sentry out there they needed destroyed and Spy wasn't anywhere to be found.

„Yo, Spy, we needya to- OH! Oh my- What the fuck?!"

* * *

Quand avez-vous...? - When did you...?

Thank you for having patience with me! I will be continuing on this story and I honestly don't know how long it's going to be. I just know where it will lead to.

Thousands thanks to my friend Eve who beta-read the thing. You rock!


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaaaaaand here we go. Again. After a while it seems!**

 **I apologize, I've been busy with work, with some personal stuff, with life in general, really. Summer, yay.**

 **But here we go again! I hope you're going to like it :)**

* * *

It took a while for Sniper to finally respawn. It always did. In the meantime, he'd felt like floating in the infinite darkness, able to browse his deepest, long forgotten memories. He always adored the ones from his youth, when he still lived in the Outback. Remembering the smell of the oh so precious rain, the sun which scorched the land with it's beaming. The silence of the night, when only stars accompanied him, sometimes interrupted by howling of predators far away from him. Sniper loved those memories the most. They filled him with peace, with serenity.

That changed when the respawn spit him out. Memories from the past came to haunt him, again and again he felt the Spy's balisong biting into his guts, tearing his skin, making him bleed out… He wished the feeling would stop, and even though he knew it would, eventually, it never soothed the bushman. All the lovely memories of past were replaced by horrors of this eccentric war.

Dying for such a long period of time always left him uncomfortable. He had to battle his demons. He was used to dying, he was dying everyday again and again. Knife thrusted into his spine. Quick. Being blown out by a missile. Quick. Hell, even the bullets from Heavy's Sasha were death quick enough. But slowly bleeding out, that was terrifying. Feeling the constant, blistering pain, the awareness of inevitable. The sensation of your life slowly running away. At that time, he'd always knew he wouldn't make it. He never did.

He needed something to do. Something to make him forget.

That was easy enough, he thought, as long as we're at war.

He grabbed his rifle, which was leaning with brute gracefulness over the wall right next to the respawn, and his kukri. The knife went to it's sheet, rifle over the Sniper's shoulder as he proceeded to step outside the respawn into the battlefield. He had to find some place where he could easily hide. He would love someplace high. Despite the fact he'd been shoved over the railing countless times and met his death tens of meters below him, it didn't seem to stop the RED from seeking such places. There were a few, sadly all of them were well-known to be the sharpshooters' hidings. Not that it would make any difference in the rage of fight. He was going to be killed sooner or later, it didn't matter if it was by another Sniper's hand or Demoman's sticky bombs. He just wished it would be quick.

After a few quick deaths, as he wished, and two encounters with enemy Pyro, he finally settled himself in a rusty wooden lookout where he could observe nearly the whole battlefield. Sniper scratched his unshaved jaw as he seated himself on one of the crates that were laying there chaotically. He would swear he could still feel the scorching hot flames licking his face. He had to thank the Scout from putting him out of the misery in the middle of his pelting. Enemy kill isn't something they were allowed to do, but Scout did it anyway. Maybe because Sniper would listen to his constant blabbering, or because of the pure fact nobody wanted to be burned alive. He wished Scout would've shot his head off during the second encounter too. Unfortunately, nobody was around at that time. Although Sniper was sure that everbody must've heard him scream.

Opening one of the crates, Sniper revealed his secret stash. Well, for him and the other Sniper it wasn't a secret. Just a pack of regual, not so tasty coffee, small glass kettle and some bottles of clean, drinkable water. Next to them, a considerably huge amount of empty glass jars were piled up, surely filling up the other crates too. Sniper wasn't fond of them, then again, he didn't have to go do the job somewhere else and miss some nice, clean headshots.

Sniper stirred on the crate until he felt at least somehow comfortable and positioned his rifle. After what seemed to be a couple of minutes, he was all ready to go. He leaned to his scope and began to do what he was the best at.

* * *

„Yo, Spy, we needya to- OH! Oh my- _What the fuck?!_ "

Scout almost kissed the pavement how fastly he stopped in his tracks. He stared at Spy, mixed feelings flashing right from his eyes. Spy stared at him.

The BLU frenchman was sitting on the floor, leaning over wall, with his gloved hands slowly caressing his chest which was now bare. His suit was lying next to him, crumpled on the ground, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. He seemed focused as his hands carefully studied his smooth, slightly hairy chest.

Spy had to think about what happened back. How the RED thrusted his kukri into Spy's chest. And the pain. Unbearable. He was lucky Sniper hit his heart. He died quickly enough. And managed to kill his enemy too, which was good. Good enough. But now, he was suprised. Suprised and curious. He could still feel the preasure of the blade, nearly imperceptible. But it was there and as slight as it may feel, it was irritating.

But now, Spy was doing his best not to knife Scout in the head. He stopped in his skin-tracking and started to dress up hastily. He didn't started to speak, after all, he doesn't owe anyone an explanation.

„Man," BLU Scout started, quite unsure of what to say „were you _touching_ yourself?" After a while and no question answered, Scout understood it in his way.

„Man, that's, like, _gross_! Ya can't justa sit here and touch yourself! What the hell, are ya gay or smthing?" Scout started rambling. Spy's eye twitched slightly, annoyed by his Bostonian colleague.

„I was _not_ touching myself, you idiot," replied Spy, gritting his teeth with the feeling he could bite the young boy's throat off.

„I would reccommend you to mind your own business and maybe try to be useful on the field for once," added then, the words biting into Scout's ego like saw biting into dried wood. „And I would like to remind you, 'ow unfortunate it could be to tell any of our… friends, about this incident," Spy allowed himself a sly smile, „I 'ope we understand each other well."

He stared at the Scout with icy eyes, the clutching cold stare enhanced by his lightly blue colored iris. Like a snow panther immobilizing it's prey with the blizzard stare, nearing crouched to attack, Scout found himself unable to move and just… keep looking into Spy's eyes. He'd never seem to notice how blue his eyes were. And beautiful. In a non-gay way of course, Scout warned himself. He wasn't no fag. Like, never ever. He liked girls. Women. Yes, that's it.

And still, he hadn't moved when Spy leaned over him, his eyes still looking into his, the panthers hunting in their blizzard blue snow, his sight predatory and ready to attack.

„Yea," Scout finally found himself able to talk, and almost immediately licked his lips, now dry and sticky from the sudden nervosity that embraced his lungs and stomach. His throat constricted. „yeah. I-I understand man, no need t' be all mysterious n' shit." Scout took a few steps back and then turned on his heels, speeding away. He hadn't told Spy about the turret they needed to sap, but nevermind. He didn't want to be near that weird frenchie anymore.

Spy was looking at Scout as he runned away. His eyes slowly let go of the icyness that was in them and started to look much warmer. Spy calmed himself down, he was sure that now, Scout wouldn't dare to say a word. And he was satisfied.

He lowered his head and gave a hard stare to his chest. One hand stroke it gently and for a while, eased the nagging feeling. He hoped that it would stop, eventually.

* * *

"Oh ya bloody-!"

"Quoi? I came 'ere to, well, get revenge. It was pretty nasty, what you did to me, now wasn't it?"

"Piss off, frenchie!"

"But I wouldn't like to just sit 'ere and start talking like some super villain until, well, someone comes and ruins my masterplan. Now, stay still, it's 'ard to concentrate when you're wiggling."

"I said _PISS OFF_! Get your bloody arse off of me!"

"Now, I can't seem to find any anal leakage that would contain my blood, so please, just shut up, for 'eaven's sake, and let me think. It seems I still haven't figure out what to do with your miserable 'uman being."

BLU Spy was sitting on top of RED Sniper, fiddling with his balisong. His eyes, slightly closed in hard thinking, were scaning the room carefully. Why would the bushman hide in the same place he get killed about an hour ago? Spy didn't mind, really, he was more of wondering if anyone would be so… naïve. Dumb. Utterly idiotic.

His gloved hand reached up and touched the covered neck. Well, he didn't have his tie now. That was shame and without it, he looked… well, smart-casual. That was unpleasant. Uncomfortable. Nearly as uncomfortable as the bushman's back. But how else was he supposed to tie his legs up? It was logical. Ties are meant to tie people up. But now he was sitting here, smart-casual, on top of his nemesis, who was most likely drooling over the floor, and couldn't think of any way to repay that sly snake. Moreover, his chest hurt. It was bearable, but it hurt and it was annoying. He started to think about his revenge again, but only stream of silly, bad-behaved thoughts started to flow through his head.

Sniper shifted beneath him again, which caused the Spy's stream of thoughts crack. Then it shattered, making the BLU groan in frustration.

"Oh mon Dieu," groaned Spy and flipped his balisong few more times. "I told you to _be quiet_!" barked the BLU suddenly and thrusted his knife into Sniper's thigh.

The pain came so suddenly and stealthily, Sniper haven't recognized it at all at first. The only thing he registered was the sound as something bluntly thumped and rocked into his leg. Then it came, the scorchingly cold lightnings spread into his thigh, eating through his flesh like it was merely a cloud in the sky. He yelled, pain resonating in his voice, and shivers ran through his whole body, settling in his shoulders and spine, occasionaly making him tremble again and again. After this, Sniper went silent. If he was going to be stabbed everytime he spoke, it wasn't worth it.

As he lied there on the floor, his left arm twisted underneath his belly, and his right spread where Spy could easily see it, he noticed his rifle. A beaut she was, laying there on the wooden flooring. Maybe if he moved very slowly, Spy wouldn't notice.

Then again, he had a knife in his leg and it didn't take much to twist it. And he never was fond of twisting knives.

So he had just one chance to do this. He stared at the rifle and wondered if he really could reach it. Maybe if he tried to shake the spook off him, he could eventualy grab it. On the other side, he wavered. The pulsing pain in his thigh was agonizing enough and he didn't want to experience a new level of torment.

He was scared.

As he realized that shameful truth, something moved in him. He is an assassin, dammit. He doesn't need fear on his side. He is going to die sooner or later, so what's the point in hesitating?

Sniper braced his free hand on the floor and quickly yanked his torso with his legs in an attempt to shake Spy off him. The jammed knife stratched over his bone, making him almost lose his consciousness. The pain was excruciating, his nerves turning against him. For a moment, he couldn't see a damn thing, but he knew something must've happened. He felt somehow… lighter. As his vision started getting normal again, he heard a familiar, and very upset, stream of french words. He didn't have to understand french to know Spy wasn't complimenting his acrobatic movements. As fast as he possibly could, he braced with his arms against the hard, wooden flooring and proceeded to crawl towards his rifle. Sniper's left arm was numb and he couldn't feel almost nothing. That was mainly the reason why the RED collided with the floor after few pull ups. He reached for the rifle with his unharmed arm, tips of his fingers brushing against the lacquered wood, sticking to the handle for a second because of his sweaty palms.

Sniper moved his body in an shameful attempt of a bounce and grabbed the handle of his rifle firmly.

At the same time, small, gloved hand fell on his shoulder.

"This is going to 'urt, bushman," growled voice behind him, too close for his liking. Sniper felt the other hand grabbing handle of the frenchman's balisong. Oh, hell no.

"Both o' us, mate," agreed Sniper with nervous grin.

The RED grabbed his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder, meeting the handle with something soft. He heard cracking noise and then, finally, a satisfying painful yelp. The hands released him immediately, probably trying to ease the pain in Spy's broken nose.

Sniper twisted himself on his back, meeting with Spy's hateful gaze.

"Ahm goang to ghetzyou fo 'his, booshmahn!" Hissed Spy, now talking in much indistinct accent than ever before, holding desperately onto his nose.

The Sniper just smiled, genuinely, and raised his beloved rifle.

"Some other time, eh mate?" He pleaded and shot off Spy's head.

The headless body crumpled to the floor a few seconds later and after few minutes, it started to softly dematerialize. Sniper laid on the floor the whole time. That was second time in one day he made a fool of the BLU and killed him more than once. He was going to suffer, he was more than sure of that.

After the tie and the balisong faded away as softly as the Spy's body did, the RED immediately started to take care of his wound. A simple strangulation and a bandage application had to suffice. Or at least until Medic's ass would show up there.

* * *

The match has ended as suddenly as ever, announcing the RED's victory.

The heat of the neverending sunshine lazily fade away as the day neared to it's end. It captured the upcoming night in a passionate embrace, enlightening the world underneath in warmth, crimson and scarlet.

Beneath the shyly showing stars, leaning over the walls of the BLU base, stood Spy, the cigarette in his mouth, rolling from one corner to another and back. He was lost in his thoughts, his palm gently brushing over his torso. The phantom pain hadn't stopped all day and though he was starting to get used to it, it bothered him still. As slight as it might be, it was still there, in the background, setting back his attempts to think, to work, to enjoy this one cigarette under the early night sky. His fingernails dug into the fabric of his suit and slightly scratched his chest.

„Somethin' troublin' you, Spy?"

The frenchman jerked, nearly jumping to air. He was so lost in his mind, so concentrated on the dull pain, he hadn't even heard the footsteps.

Turning to his teammate, he grimaced and elegantly slid his hand down the chest and let it fall beside his body. Inhaling the smoke, he thought about the possibility to share his worry to Engineer. As he exhaled, Spy decided not to.

„I am just experiencing some discomfort which, I believe, will vanish with ze sleep," Spy waved his hand. „Nothing to trouble your genious mind with," he added and put off the cigarette over the wall.

„Y'know you can tell me if something happens, right Spy?" Engineer let his voice waver with worry just so to let Spy know he was there. They were friends, after all. And being honest with himself, Engineer worried a bit too much for his liking, a bit too much than he should. And it was hard not to offer his everything to help his friend.

„Yes, Engineer, I know zhat, but thank you anyway for reminding me," the masked BLU answered absently and proceeded to return to the building.

„Yeah, sure… Anyway, wanna grab some beer n' wine and hang out for a while? I've got some thoughts I wanted to share with ya-"

„My apologies, but we will 'ave to postpone zhis to another day. I 'ave still some things that call for my attention."

„Oh- well, alright, whatever suits you, fella."

They parted in silence, Engineer heading to his room and Spy waiting, weighing his options of what to do next. The silence embraced his figure standing in the narrow hallway and hushed his footsteps as he headed to the infirmary, his hand slowly brushing over his chest.

* * *

 **Well.**

 **I hope that the next part won't take as long as this one took. I will do my best, really!**

 **Cheers.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ups, I did it again. Nananana.**

 **I'm sorry. I had to manage a shitton of tasks and I had to figure my future out for a bit. Yeah, it took longer than I thought.**

 **But I'm here again! With a new chapter!**

 **Once again, thanks Evey for beta-read, luv ya.**

* * *

Battles always lasted from 9am to 5pm as to provide some free time for the mercenaries. Their day started at 7pm - a brisk shower was needed in the mornings due to the abnormal heat from the desert. Then, everyone did what the wanted. Pyro and Scout watched the TV, accompanied by Demo and sometimes Sniper (only if he managed to snatched the remote before anyone had the chance and could watch the nature channel). Engineer accompanied by Soldier were looking into the battle plans, Spy was nowhere to be found as usual and rest of them just cleaned their precious guns or fed the doves. After the battle, they showered again and went on with their spare time.

But Scout _never_ showered with his team. He felt kind of weird and awkward, standing in the shared showers, a young rabbit between the old, hairy and really smelly wolfs. Never had he dared to imagine what would happen if his sight just slid beneath his teammates' waist and-

Scout fought down the urge to throw up. What was he thinking about, for god's sake?! He's going to shower now, no one's gonna be there, it's alright, he'll have the whole showers for himself. _What a blast!_ He's gonna be there sooo long, like, so long he's gonna disolve and shit. Then, as a steam, he's gonna shower again. He grinned, content with his situation and threw his milky white towel over his shoulder in a sign of young carelessness and happiness.

The RED youngster marched happily into the showers' entrance and immediately jumped back, eyes wide with suprise and - was it a horror that spilled over his face for a second?

Scout pressed himself against the wall by the entrance and stared into the nothingness he would love to become at that moment, wishing the wall he was pressing his whole body against would swallow him, or at least blind him from the reality he found himself in.

His heart was beating fast, so fast he could swear it was going to burst from his chest and splatter itself on the wall before him. And his palms were sweaty. Oh god, he had to get out of here.

 _What would Sniper do if he found me there? I guess he would just assume I was creepy spying on him,_ thought Scout and another disgusted grimace spilled over his face.

He _had_ to get out of here.

So he did.

Scout briskly found his back back to a small, cozy room he could call his own property. There were not many things – just a small drawer, metal table with peeling black paint and a similar chair which padding was teared in places, mostly on the edges where Scout would pinch into the fabric and occasionaly tear it.

He sat himself on the bed a stared into the ground. Yeah, Sniper was his friend. He could say he was his best friend in this whole crazy war mess. But…

Scout shook his head violently as to chase the thoughts out of his mind but didn't succeed.

But seeing Sniper naked in the showers, in front of the mirror… _without a towel,_ that was something even a best friend wouldn't like to see.

But Scout did. And for some reason, he felt so awkward. Ashamed of himself. Of Sniper. He felt like his eyes were violated and have to live with that for the rest of their life.

Moreover, Scout was scared. He didn't know why, but the sight of Sniper's nakedness didn't leave him on the verge of throwing up or disgusted. He felt normal. He felt more than normal.

He felt content.

And he was scared of that. That wasn't normal. He should be the most heterosexual person on this planet. He loved _girls._ He loved everything that girls had and more.

Scout tensed and covered his mouth with his palm. Could it be- he thought scared shitless. No, it couldn't. Or could it? Oh my god. Scout's eyes widened with fear while his thoughts raced aimlessly through his skull.

„Could I become a fag just from looking at his junk…?" whispered the young RED in utter terror and looked at his palms, his mind teared apart from sudden existentional crisis. When he was still living in Boston, he heard from his friends that the homosexuality was contagious. That you could turn gay in any given moment.

 _That would mean that I'm gay now_ , thought Scout and his heart sank. _What am I going to do now? I can't tell anyone, Ma will stop sending me letters and she won't answer my calls and-_

Scout had to slap himself to wake up and jumped on his feet.

„Are you fuckin' serious, you dick? Y'aren't faggot, jeez, what were you thinkin', that shit's not contagious, that would me that Snipes has to be- oooohmygod," Scout stopped his fast blabbering and opened his mouth slightly in awareness. Then he shut it and shook his head.

„Nah, that's bullshit, Snipes's not gay or nothin'," muttering this, he grabbed his towel again and proceeded into the showers one more time, now spending a great effort to make a noise and warn anyone that could be without towel in the showers this way. He was coming. And he didn't want _any more_ suprises.

Luckily for him, the showers were empty this time. Everyone was minding their own business elswhere, so Scout took a quick, warm shower (in this weather, hot shower would be something like burning alive for him and Medic said that cold shower could cause him pneumonia, but he didn't believe him a word, which was definitely _NOT_ why he took a warm shower instead of the cold one. He took that warm blessing because he _wanted_ to, not because some medic said so. That's right.) and quickly dressed into new, not sweat-soaked clothes.

When he was leaving the showers, his mind was already occupied with questions what to do next. He would like to play baseball. Or just go and throw that goddamned ball to someone. Or into someone's face. Last time he hit Demo's bottle.

He fought he would never escape his endless rage. That time he had to climb on a tree and throw sticks and treebark on Demo until he gave up and left.

The trees reminded him of Sniper and he felt the heat filling his cheeks and ears. He had to stop thinking about that Sniper-was-naked thing. The australian loved nature, maybe he liked sports too. Scout decided to try, otherwise he would die from boredom in less than ten minutes.

* * *

„I don't loike baseball, Scout."

Sniper said this sentence for the sixth time in two minutes and it started to get on his nerves.

„Oh, c'mon Snipes, it's fun, you'll see! Don't be such a princess!"

„Scout, I don't play baseball."

„Sniiiiiipes!"

„Scout, loike I said, I do-"

„Sniiiiipes!"

„Scout, stop inter-"

„Snipes, please, you will just throw and catch that ball, 's not such a big deal, is it?"

A strong, big hands landed on Scout's small shoulders and squeezed them. Sniper glared at him from behind his aviators, his eyes filled with irritation.  
„Interrupt me _one_ more time, kid, and I swear I'll gut ya and use your skin as a _rug_ in my camper. _Is that clear_?" he growled and squeezed Scout's shoulders a bit more, so the young man hissed.

„Man, you're kinda scary when you talk that way. Jeez, ok, I won't but willya play with me or yes?" Scout paid him a look back and then shook Sniper's hands from his shoulders.

„You're one annoying brat, y'know that, do you?" sighed the Sniper, irritated, but a tiny smile crossed his lips for a moment. „Alroight, I'll play with you. Just for a while."

Scout grinned, happy he achieved his goal.

„But I'm not gonna run around like a dipshit," Sniper warned him and a baseball mitt landed with shameless speed in his face.

„Whatevs man, I don't care, I just want to play for a bit," said Scout and threw a baseball at Sniper, who at that time, taking the mitt off his face, gritted his teeth in annoyance. Right after he took off the glove, which was a matter of seconds, a ball hit him straight between his eyes.

He was going to kill that little bugger. Sooner or later.

Sniper bent down, grabbing the ball off of the grass and with his full force hurled it at Scout.

He stood there expecting headshotting Scout with the ball, but only a moment later he stood there, mildly amused and suprised.

Scout moved his gloved hand in front of his face with a speed of lightning and caught the ball, taking a few steps back as not to get smacked in his face with the back of his palm. But he stood there. Unharmed.

The young man lowered his hand and took the ball from his mitt. He then glared at Sniper, challenge sparkling in his eyes.

„If ya wanna rip my head off with the ball, you gotta try harder, old man," teased him Scout, and then immediately stopped, looking all nervous and getting a bit red.

„Ah mean, y'know, you're not _that old_ or nothing, 's just, y'know, a joke… Fuck!" Scout seemed really disturbed and the force with which he threw the ball at Sniper was filled with frustration.

Just the idea of seeing some old man's junk was leaving him feeling awkward. And Scout didn't like it, no, he couldn't call Sniper an old man. Not anymore. _Everything changed today,_ thought Scout as he felt the heat rising up from his neck to his hair. He hoped Sniper wouldn't notice. Which was not possible, the sun wasn't even setting down and they weren't so far from each other to overlook the bright red color that painted Scout's face.

Sniper caught the ball with seemingly no problem at all, although he must've admit his arm went numb for a short while, leaving a trail of increasing stinging pain in his hand and wrist from the force.

He threw the ball from one hand to another few times, then looked at the young RED.

„Hey mate, are you ashamed of yaself so much or was that throw of mine too much for ya?" taunted him the older man, his lips shaping into a smug grin, showing of his wolf-like teeth.

„Or have you…"

Scout froze in place, feeling that what was going to come next wasn't going to be pleasant.

„… _fallen in love with me?_ "

A victorious smile spread all over Sniper's face as he watched Scout turn from bright red to crimson and then slowly turn to faint purple. That was the moment when Scout forgot to breath due to the shock his mind was undergoing.

The bostonian was in deep shock. He wanted to say something clever, hell, he wanted to say at least _something_ , but couldn't. Did he just ask him what he thought he did? His mind was racing as if it ran for it's own life. Did he mean it? What was going on? What was that? What? What? _What?_

A small raindrop hitting his forehead and sliding into his eye finally woke him up enough to start functioning again. Scout blinked, once, twice, and then stammered the first thing that he was thinking about at that time.

„… What?"

The soft drizzle that started to form above their heads slowly chased them down, cleansing Sniper's aviators and making him shudder a little. The wind was rising too, shoving the small driplets into his and Scout's face.

„I said, have you fallen in love with me?" Asked Sniper again, smiling even more as he looked at that priceless situation he'd got Scout into.

That was it. Scout was finally fully awake.

„What the _FUCK_ have you just _FUCKING_ said you _CREEPY OLD FUCKING FUCKER_?! _Are you NUTS_?! What the FUCK are you talking about?!"

„Oi, mate, watchyar language."

„I don't fucking care about my fucking language, oh my god, are you a fag or something?! You are, are you?! Fuck's sake, I'm going to fucking bash your fucking brain into your fucking ass with my fucking bat coz' I'm pretty sure that's the genuine place you are thinkin' with!"

„Whatever kid, I'm going inside, it's starting to rain."

„I don't fucking care, c'mere and let me kill you you sonuvabitch, oh my god I' gonna kill you _until you're dead_ you mothafucka!" Scout started to look lesser and lesser than a human and more and more like a steam train- noisy, reddened with rage and ready to maul Sniper's sorry ass.

„Yea, yea, well, I don't want to be swept by that big-ass storm that's headin' our way, so I'm going now and you should too."

Sniper turn around and started for his camper, suddenly disinterested by Scout's rampaging mood and swearing. He knew better than just stand there and get soaking wet.

After a while Scout too realized it was not so good idea to just stand in rain and followed in Sniper's trail.

„Hey, shitbag, y'still have my ball! Give it back!"

„I'm going to give it back after you've calmed down."

A massive thunderstorm cracked above their heads, making them flinch and for a while deafening them. The ringing in their ears was extremely annoying.

„Hey, creep, I said give it ba- _OHMYGODAREYOUSHITTINGME_?!"

The rain fell all of a sudden. Sniper gasped in suprise and then sighed in defeat. He wanted to evade that.

The storm came quick. From a small drizzle it turned the world into hell in a few seconds. The rain was not a rain. It was neverending curtain of water. As if the sky let all the rain fall at once.

„Hey Snipes, are y'shittin' me? Why haven't you told me this?! Im frickin' soakin' wet right now!" Scout tried to shout over the sound of heavy raining, which, as he watched Sniper slowly turn around and face him, wasn't as a big problem as he thought it would.

„I bloody told ya two times, Scout, don't you try that shit on me," Sniper warned him and turned to his camper again, heading it's way. „You're not the only one who's bloody wet."

Scout followed him, moaning and yammering, constantly blaming the australian for bringing this hell on him. He was still complaining about Sniper having his mitt and baseball too. The ground was starting to look like a mudpit, the only thing that was missing were pretty blondes in bikinis. In the naïve attempt to catch up on Sniper, Scout started to jog a little.

After few steps, a big, wet „smack" sounded through the opening.

 _That turned out to be a pretty bad idea_ , thought Scout as he was trying to stand up, covered head to toe in mud and water. Smacking sounds accompanied him while his body tried to escape the cold, damp embrace. Somewhere in front of him, he could hear Sniper laughing.

„Stop frickin' laughin' you dumb kangaroo!"

„You look loike a bloody big turd Scout," sounded from a distance, amusingly. He had that unpleasant feeling that Sniper was on the edge of crying from laughter.

„I will have to tell this to the rest of the team, although they might not believe it," stammered the voice in front of him with great difficulties and started laughing again. Then the young man heard footsteps and two large hands grabbed his dirty shoulders few moments later, pulling him up from the mud and helping him on his feet.

Scout looked Sniper in the face. The australian was still giggling, showing his wolf teeth. His whole face was wet, but if the streams from under Sniper's aviators were tears or just raindrops, he couldn't tell.

„I hope you had a good time, you ass."

„Oh, kid, _I sure did_."

„Fuckin' great, man."

„Go get yourself cleaned up boy, I'm afraid you can throw away those clothes." Sniper turned around, his camper was so close and he was still outside, dickin' around in the rain. He started for the camper again, realizing after a while Scout was following him.

„I said go and jump into the shower, Scout."

„I won't, y'still have my ball and mitt, man. I'm not goin' anywhere until you give it back."

Sniper opened the door into his camper and got inside. He wanted to close the door behind him, but found that impossible because of the bostonian who started to jostle his way into the camper as well.

„Oi, get your dirty arse outta here, kid!"

„No."

„This's my property, get lost."

„Y'can't just throw me out, Snipes. The base's frickin' far from here. And the rain showered me good, I'm not even covered in mud _that much_!"

„Scout, I said get the fuck out of h-"

„I thought we're _friends_ , Snipes." Said Scout quietly, wearing one of his dissapointed faces.

Sniper froze, a variety of emotions running through his face – suprise, thinking, reasoning, irritation and then, as a last, resignation. He stepped aside and let Scout stumble into his camper.

„Just this time."

„Thanks man, I owe you."

„Yes, you do." Sniper was tense. He didn't like other people in his small camper. He loved his privacy more than he loved his mom. And now Scout was there.

But his mother raised him good.

He took a few steps into his camper, get on his knees and started to look for something in his storage space.

„Do you want a coffee or something to warm yourself up with?"

„Man, I don't drink coffee. Do you maybe have some soup in there?"

„Now, I don't like the idea of you eating out my stash-"

„ _Please?_ "

„I do. Okay, I do. I will give it to ya. But first, take off your shirt.

„What?"

„Take off your shirt."

„You fuckin' creepy mothafuckin' perverted assho-"

Sniper finally stood up, holding a medium sized portable heater.

„Oh." Declared Scout.

„You will catch cold this way, kid. Take of your shirt, we will let it dry on this little bugger."

„Ok." Scout started to take of his shirt the same time Sniper did. It felt weird. Really weird. Seeing Sniper's torso without clothes. Bare. Scout blushed a little and gave Sniper his shirt. In exchenge, he received a warm, fuzzy blanket. It didn't even smell like piss, just a cheap tobacco and strong coffee.

„Thanks, man, appreciate that."

Snuggled into the blanket, Scout felt like a small child again, sitting in front of TV around Christmas time, drinking cocoa and watching fairytales. The radiant, pleasant heat from the heater was giving him chills, but soon enough he felt his muscles relaxing and he could feel his fingers again. He snuggled into the blanket even more and was just enjoying the heat with his eyes closed.

Sniper slapped their wet shirts on the heater, changed into dry clothes and started to make some soup for his young visitor. Meanwhile, he managed to make himself a cup of hot, strong coffee, which he was sipping carefully, not minding the stinging feeling of his tongue being burned.

Then he carefully poured the canned and warmed tomato soup into bowl, took a spoon and headed towards Scout.

„I have your soup, kid."

Scout opened his eyes, ever so slowly and took the bowl with spoon from the australian.

„Thanks man. I'm cold and hungry. Like, not so cold now, but man, starving." He sighed and took a spoonfull of soup.

Then burned his throat and started to swear quietly.

„It smells… funny, Sniper. How old is that soup?"

„It's brand new kid, I refilled my suply just a few days ago."

„Man, I swear, you had to burn it or something, it smells like smoke."

„Scout, I know how to warm a bloody canned soup, stop complainin' and-"

A weird, electric sound interrupted him, followed by a big WHOOOSH of fire.

The heater flared up.

 _„WHATTHEFU-_ "

„ _Damn._ "

„ _Sniper, what THE FUCK!_ "

The australian jumped on his feet, stripping Scout from his blanket and starting to beat the fire violently.

When he stopped, the fire was put out. Only a scorched, black pieces of fabric remained from the shirts and the heater wasn't ever going to function again.

„Shame. I liked that thing."

„Snipes, what the fuck happened."

„Dunno, kid, I guess some kind of electrical crap happened."

Scout took a few steps towards the heater. Then get on his knees, leaning over the dead thing, eyes glued on the small text on the front of the heater.

„Do. Not. Cover. Danger of flaming up. Snipes, _do you know how to read?_ "

„ I don't care, it never happened to me before."

„You- I- MAN, I wanna kill you _so bad_ now."

„Why? I put the fire out."

„We could've burn here to death or some other fucked up shit! That it never happened doesn't mean y'can do anything you please with that!"

„Aight, kid, easy there or you're gonna crawl in that storm to your precious base."

After that sentence, there was silence. Scout didn't want to go out and get wet again, moreover after this, when he was warmed up, with a soup in his hands and with a on-some-places-burned fuzzy blanket. He took it from Sniper and snuggled in it again. Eating his soup, he was thinking about lots of things, mainly why is Sniper such a big idiot sometimes.

„Does it taste like a smoke now?" Asked Sniper, genuinely curious, while he warmed his hands against his hot coffee cup.

„Nah, man, it's good."

„I thought so. I know how to make a bloody soup, mate, I've been living nearly all my life off that thing."

„But… doesn't it… like, fuck up your body n' shit? Y'know, my Ma always said that it's good to eat a variety of food. Like, meat, fruit, vegetables, that shit."

„I guess you should. But I don't have much time for that, I mean, I do, but I bloody hate cookin', it's impossibly long, I just can't stand it."

„So why don't you just go to our base every evening and get yoself some good food? You know the guys are cooking right?"

„I know. But if I start to come, I would have to cook, too. I don't loike that idea, so I just stay in here, minding my own business, kid."

When they started talking, they were unstoppable. And so they were this time, with the storm raging outside, it looked like the van was just in other dimension. Outside, the brute force of wind and water were destroying the last bits of vegetation, inside, two men warming with their food and drinks, talking and laughing occasionaly.

It would never occure to anyone that Sniper and Scout were friends. They were too different, in their ages, in their hobbies and even in their opinions. They liked to curse and shout at each other, sometimes trying to kill each other in their spare time because there were some days that someone crossed the line.

Other times, they were like lovers (and hell, Scout would be pretty embarassed if someone told him that), minding their own business in the same room (sometimes even Scout tried to appreciate the silence. When someone told him to. Several times. A few times with a gun sticked to his head.). They would help each other too with some things only the other could do and they would even spare some quality time just watching stars, TV or just chatting.

And as they talked, the storm outside started to ease and finally disappeared, but no one in the camper noticed. The stars came out shily, with the moon like their parent, but again, no one noticed.

After what seemed to be an eternity, there came a moment of silence. There always are those moment. Everyone thinks about something or someone, no one is talking and it's a good sign to get up and call it a day. Scout was pretty good at recognizing that, so he started to get up and go to the door.

„Y'know," his voice cut the silence. „I should go, it's gettin' late and as good as your soup could be, I'm starving for some quality meal." Scout grinned and opened the door, for a moment suprised how dark it was and that it wasn't raining anymore.

„Yeah, roight, I guess that's a good idea. I'm bit tired myself. See ya tomorrow kid?"

„Yeah, yeah, see ya tomorrow," Scout smiled and hopped out of the camper, shutting the door behind him.

He headed towards the base, where a good, hot meal awaited him, accompanied by other mercenaries who gathered for a late dinner. He joined them, glad that in this whole mess he could find a team who- he couldn't say they loved him as their son, they just didn't want to kill him so badly as the BLU's. And that was a start. And he knew he was awesome and that the guys would figure that out sooner or later. But he was glad he found the team he found.

As he started to eat, meanwhile listening to who torn who's head and who got smashed to pieces by a rocket launcher, he felt kind of sorry for Sniper. He was in his van, alone. Scout should've persuaded him to go too.

With that sorry mood, he finished his meal and headed back to his room, get some sleep and maybe stop feeling like a pussy.

* * *

 **Maaaan, I really wish I would start with the plot. But. I'm mess. I wanna torture your souls a bit more.**

 **But we're getting there.**

 **Take care (and if you want, review, it could save my motivation. And life. And money spent on cheap wine.)**

 **-Salad**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi guys!**_

 _ **I'm, once again, sorry. I just found a new job, started working, I too found a new SO, so I suddenly have less time than ever (and due to that I have, like, 4 hours of free time each day (and I'm usually tired as frick)).**_

 _ **Well, here you go with another chapter :) Hope you like it.**_

* * *

The figure stood in the middle of the empty hallway, pondering, shuffling around and filling the space with soft noise of indecision.

His leather shoes whispered against the cold floor tiles again. And again, his head was filled with doubts. They were scratching againts his skull with their sharp fangs, making him shake his head a little in an attempt to drive them away. He knew they would come back if he didn't do something.

His palms were sweaty, making nearly unbearable to wear the leathered gloves he so adored. But he would _never_ take off his gloves.

No, they should stay. And so they did.

The BLU Spy moved, each drop of his body filled with elegance, to the waiting room of Medic's office. He waltzed in there, making sure no one would see him (how could they, thay were either sleeping or playing some plebeian games as usual) and then quickly passed the distance between one door to another. He grabbed the door knob and stepped into the Medic's infirmary.

„Oh, don't bozher vit knocking, herr Spy. It'z not zhat I was _buzy at all_." Medic slowly took off his glasses and placed them on the with-paperwork-flooded table. He looked quite exhausted, with big dark circles under his eyes, his hair looking more like a bird's nest than anything else. And he seemed quite irritated as well. He might be working night shifts too, and get a little of the precious sleep, but he wanted to be treated with at least something similar to respect.

„Vhat do you vant?

Spy straightened up. He wanted to say something annoying, something that would make Medic more frustrated than he was now. Or maybe something utterly insulting? He wanted to have the final word again.

But… now, he needed help. And for a moment, he wanted to run away from this place and pretend he was never there.

The sharp, shooting pain in his chest made him rethink that. He looked at Medic, at first only anger and disgust reflecting in his eyes, then he eased a little bit and with slow pace, he got to a chair and slowly slipped into it.

„I must admit, Docteur, I may be in need of your… medical assistance." Spy muttered, somehow devastated that he had to say this. He never needed anyone's help. The Frenchman was always capable of taking a good care of himself. No wonder this situation was so frustrating.

Medic put on his glasses nearly immediately and left his seat. He grabbed Spy's arm and dragged him to the operating table.

„Herr Spy, take your suit off and tell me vhat troubles you, bitte," Medic smiled, more resembling a hungry predator than kind team doctor that would help his teammates in need.

„And no worries, I don't bite!" he chuckled and turned away to look for his equipment.

Spy stood there, watching Medic with suspicious look. Then he gave up and sighed. There was no other way.

„Well," Spy started while unbuttoning his suit, „I've been experiencing a lot of sharp pain in my chest recently." He stated and carefully folded his suit, then placed it next to him. He undone his tie and started to, rather unwillingly, unbuttoned his shirt.

„How long iz recently for you, herr Spy? An hour? A day? A week? Tell me, pleaze. It's vital for me to know, you see."

„Since zis afternoon, I am really not sure about ze exact time, though." Spy answered. He felt like a small child.

„Are you sure it iz not because of your smoking habit? You know, you smoke quite often and are very fond of it. Maybe," Medic's eyes shone brightly when he turned and faced Spy, who on the other hand took a careful step back, „maybe you have lung cancer! _Oh Gott_ , zhat would be _lovely_! Tell me, herr Spy, are you coughing out blood?" The sudden change of approach cought Spy off-guard.

„N-no, I'm not coughing blood, nom de Dieu! Apart from ze neverending pain in my chest I 'ave to say I'm fine," growled Spy and if a look could kill, Medic would be stabbed long before he even got to Spy's field of vision. Maybe at that time when the doctor cut him open and fiddled with his intestines. That was not how he imagined „ _quick check-up_ " nor it was his vision of „ _ideally spent afternoon_ ".

„But it vould be zhe _perfect_ diagnosis, herr Spy! You are experiencing chest pain, you have a quite hoarse voice, now you only have to cough up the blood and I can start with zhe operation right away!"

„Docteur, I am not sure how to exactly explain to you zhat I do not have a lung cancer. Now, if you could just examine me so we both can enjoy ze rest of our evening." The tone of Spy's voice was cold and threatening enough that even Medic stopped with his fantasizing.

„Very vell, as you vish," was the only thing the German said before he grabbed his stethoscope and started examining Spy.

They did many examinations, and in the end, Medic was more than puzzled.

„I am not sure how to tell you zhis, herr Spy."

„Tell me what?"

„Zhat you are completely fine."

„I can assure you, Docteur, I am not f-" Spy couldn't finish the sentence because he was cut out by Medic.

„Please don't get me vrong my friend. I examined you in every way possible, your heart is fine, so are your lungs, unfortunately. But I was not able to identify zhe source of your problems."

„So… you don't know what's ze problem?"

„I have no idea. But, I can give you some muscle relaxants? Maybe you are just overvorked. It happens a lot." Medic quickly crossed the distance between him and his cabinet, where he stored most of his medicaments. He searched for a bit and then, with a victorious „Ah-aaah!" grabbed a small bottle. The he came back to Spy and gave it to him.

„Those are the pills. Try to take one before you go to sleep. It should help to ease your pain, it iz zhe most I can do at zhe moment."

„Thank you, Docteur, I appreciate it."

„I could still try to open you, if you vould like. I think it vould solve zhe problem in a moment."

„ _No._ "

* * *

He had to argue about the operation for a while, but after that, he finally found himself standing in the hallway. Again with the hallway. Spy was tired, exhausted he would say, but somehow he didn't want to go to sleep. Spy was never scared, he wasn't scared of anything. Of anything physical. Now he was, and Spy had to think about it for a while, mildly concerned. He was not scared, but he wasn't never wrong with his sixth sense. And now his intuition was telling him not to go to bed so early.

Very well, he might as well do something amusing instead of standing in the middle of this cold hallway.

Maybe jumpscare Scout. With elegance, of course.

Or stalk Sniper.

Or cloak and contribute to Soldier's increasing paranoia.

Or he could just go and wake up Engineer and have a small talk. Hmmm…

A jumpscare and couple of photos of Sniper showering later, Spy stopped in front of the door to Engineer's workshop. Why he was in need of the tinkerers help, he didn't know. But somehow he knew that he needed it as much as he needed the air to live.

He raised his hand in front of the doors and wanted to knock, but a voice from behind stopped him from doing so.

„Hey, Spah. What're ya doin' here?" Engineer approached Spy and from the pocket pulled out an impressive bundle of keys.

„Well, I just came to visit you. I was worried you will be asleep, but I've been pleasantly suprised."

„Oh, right, well, I guess… I mean, come on in, make yaself comfortable," the Texan stuttered and unlocked the doors. Engineer seemed a bit puzzled by Spy's nice attitude. An hour or two ago, Spy was something which you could call a pain in the ass. Now he was behaving himself. And Engineer knew there was a reason behind all of this.

Meanwhile, Spy let himself into the workshop and made himself as comfortable as possible on one of the most uncomfortable chairs he ever encountered. _Well, not completely behaving himself, are we_? Engineer thought to himself and shut the door behind them.

„Well, how come ya came to visit me in my lil' kingdom? I thought this place was a big taboo for ya." Engineer smiled and sat on the hard floor, wrench in hand, and started making… things, as usual.

„No particular reason, tinkerer, I just came to… chat, for a while. I will not bozher you for long, I promise." Spy sighed. „But I 'ave to admit, I feel like shit today."

Engineer raised his head and even took off his glasses, examining Spy with his critical look.

„Spah, that's a language I haven't heard from you in weeks. Is something wrong with ya?" The Texan stood up and started for a small fridge.

„Would you like something to drink? Or ya don't and ya won't even talk about anything?" he turned to Spy, two cans of beer already in hand.

„You know I do not fancy something that _wicked_ and _low_ as a _canned beer._ " He watched Engineer in front of him slump a little, and the bald man turned back to the fridge.

„But… tonight, I might make an exception, as it seems you don't 'ave anything else to drink." There was a hint of a soft smile in Spy's voice, and Engineer turned again, with a grin on his face.

„Ya're makin' me dizzy, Spah," he chuckled and offered the Frenchman one of the cans. Spy gladly accepted it. He needed something to relax, to calm down, and mostly, to ease the increasing pain in his chest. Neverending, that's how he would describe it.

„So," Engineer started, then opened his can and took a big gulp. „how's your day?"

Spy had to think about that question for a while, but smiled after all.

„Well, you could say I was rather busy. And I encountered ze RED Sniper again. Ze bushman is starting to get on my nerves."

„Ya're enemies after all, I would be suprised if ya two adored each other." He sported a sharp, stabbing look from Spy. „Eh, apologies," Engineer muttered.

„'e always finds a way to kill me. 'e is one sly bastard," hissed Spy and too took a swing from the can. „Moreover, ze bushman managed to kill me two times today. And as you can imagine, it were _not_ a pleasant ways to go."

„Just a two times a day? I thought you two were like two mad dogs, always tryin' to get to each other's throat."

„I meant the more 'ideous ways today, often when we were fighting at close distance. 'e managed to thrust that knife of 'is through my chest. And then shot my 'ead off."

„Well, ain't sayin' it's a pleasant way to die, it truly ain't. Ya should pay him a visit tomorrow, maybe ya could explain to him that's not a way he should treat ya, Spah." Engineer chuckled darkly. „But I know ya know yar way around. So fingers crossed, I guess."

„Yes, I do know my way around. And I will certainly explain things to 'im in as much detail as possible." Spy's lips curled a bit. Just the thought of seeing that Aussie suffering, coughing blood underneath his shoes made Spy determined. He wanted to see the RED in agony. He wanted revenge. Bloody, agonizing and slow revenge.

And he was going to get it.

Sudden sharp pain in his chest shook with his whole body, making him wide awake from his fantasizing. He gasped and instinctively grabbed his suit in order to try and stop the pain. It hurt him all the time, but this was different. This sudden increase in pain… he never experienced that.

„Hey, pardner, are ya alright?" Engineer jumped on his feet and grabbed his shoulders in firm grasp. „What's the matter? Ya wanna go to Medic's?"

„N-no." Wheezed Spy, sounding much more tired. „I visited Medic not so long ago. 'e said there was nothing he could do because I'm completely fine."

„And do you really feel that fine yaself?"

„Do I look like the perfect example of fine?" Spy hissed, frustrated and annoyed of this meaningles conversation. „I got some pills I should take, and I 'ope that will work."

„Well… could ya tell me where it hurts? Maybe it's not as much as medical problem as ya would think," Engineer's sight hardened, as if he was thinking hard about something.

„It's in my chest. It 'urts from the moment I got impaled by that nasty bushman's knife." Spy raised his head and immediately squinted his eyes in suspicion. „Do you possibly know something I do not?"

„I can't say I do. But maybe your chip is damaged." Engineer muttered, looking away.

„My… chip."

„Yea."

„No one ever mind to mention that I do 'ave an electronic chip in my body." _That sounded dangerously calm_ , thought Engie.

„Yar right, Spah."

„Would you be so kind and explain to my why I 'ave a _CHIP_ in _MY BODY, NOM DE DIEU_?!" _That wasn't so calm after all._

„It's quite simple, really, calm down, heavens. The chip is connectin' ya to the Respawn. Meanin' ya can't die when ya have the chip. From lookin' at ya, and what did ya described to me, I'm guessin' ya have a minor chip damage. Nothin' I couldn't handle, really." Engineer quickly explained, feeling that if he wasn't guick with words, Spy could be quick with his butterfly knife.

„So if I understand it correctly, I carry a chip inside of me, that connects me to ze Respawn and now is damaged a bit." Spy summed up and thought about it for a while.

„Can you, fix it, Smart one?" He asked finally, brushing his palm against the sore spot on his chest.

„Of course I can. But not now. I'm exhausted, and this is not the first beer I've had tonight. Feelin' bit tipsy, I have to admit. Wouldn't have the guts to mess with your chip while I'm at this state, sorry." Engineer slumped a bit. „Ya will have to stand it until the mornin', then I could make ya feel alright again."

„If you really are able to 'elp me, tinkerer, I will wait. Maybe those pills will ease the pain a little bit. Or so I 'ope."

„Yeah, I wouldn't count on that Spah, but ya can try it." Engineer shrugged and finished his can. So did Spy.

„Very well," Spy stood up and nodded in Engineer's way. „I will wait until morning. I look forward to it, I must admit I really do."

„Can't blame ya, I wouldn't like to run around with the pain like yours all day, not even a minute."

„Yes. Well, I did. Now, goodnight, friend. See you tomorrow."

„Yes. Right. See ya, Spah. G'night."

Spy left the workshop and closed the door behind him. He sighed. Tomorrow morning was so close, yet so far away. So far away. It seemed that this would be the longest night he ever experienced. The night of his life.

Oh mon Dieu, how he hated being sentimental.

He went down the hallway and stopped in the entrance of the base. Slowly, and quietly, he opened the doors and slipped out of the building.

The night was calm and quiet, as if everything living held their breaths in his presence. The sky was clear, maybe the clearest he'd ever witnessed. But then again, he never stargazed so much. Tonight, the stars shone brightly, flickering in the darkness that was embracing them.

He found himself lost in their beauty, standing still as not to disturb the silence that was embracing him.

„A beautiful night we have here, right, mate?" Sounded somewhere next to him.

„Bushman." Spy answered, the tone of his voice flat. „Aren't you supposed to be in that smelly van of yours?"

„Roight, sorry for interrupting ya Spook. I was just being polite, 's all." The BLU Sniper finally revealed himself from the shadows and took a few steps towards Spy. Then he stopped, unsure of what to say. The first to talk was the Frenchmen, beginning with a heavy sigh.

„I… am sorry for my behavior, Bushman. I've been rather busy today and I'm really, _really_ tired."

„No harm done, mate. Whatcha doin' here anyways?" Sniper asked, genuinely curious, measuring Spy with a questioning look on his face. „Admiring them stars?"

„You could say that I am, in fact, doing exactly that. I just came here for a fresh air. The stars are… a bonus." Muttered the Frenchman and leaned against the wall next to the door. He reached into inner pocket of his suit and took out a cigarette case. He whipped his blue lighter and in a second, inhaled the calming smoke.

„Would you have a one for a friend, mate? I left mine in my camper," Sniper asked quietly, and then pulled out a cigarette, as Spy just galantly offered him the opened case. „Thanks."

„You are welcome, Bushman."

Spy hid his case in the suit and smoked in quiet and peace, but he had to wonder. He gave Sniper a short look. He was still surprised, how similar the Snipers looked. He could swear they were twins. Maybe the BLU was a bit smarter than the RED kangaroo, but otherwise he was still as amused as the first time he saw them kicking each others asses. It was like watching your good side battle the bad one.

It was amusing, but quite irritating, too. The truth was, and Spy had a hard time to finally admitting it to himself, that he was quite fond of Sniper. The BLU one of course. He had his standards. And even though they seemed like the biggest enemies on the whole base, Spy knew. He didn't love the bushman, but he liked him enough to call him a friend.

The problem was, he couldn't help himself but hate the Aussie at the same time because of his nervewrecking resemblance to his counterpart. It was a like-hate relationship.

„Say, Spook, I was wondering."

„I think I'm dreaming, bushman. You finally figured out 'ow the brain works."

„Ha. Ha. So funny Frenchie. Say," Sniper shuffled his feet in the dust and sand. „I was wondering, if ya, well, if ya'd want to hang out sometimes. I know a nice place, good for those leather shoes, too. So?"

„Do you want to take me on a date, Sniper?" Spy grinned, amused, taking it as a best joke he ever said.

„Well, yes."

Spy nearly choked on his cigarette.

When he finally stopped coughing, Sniper never looked more embarassed in his lifetime.

„You want to go on a date with me."

„Well- I- I mean- I thought you- We- I thought you were interested. I figured that we understand each other, somehow. I thought I would give it a try-"

„ _Sniper_." Spy cut in the middle of Sniper's stuttering and turned to face him. His look was cold, but after a while, it eased and melted.

„Sniper, I know you mean well. But-"

„Yeah, yeah I get it Spook, you're not interested, are ya. Well, I- uh, I just- don't tell anybody. _Please_."

„I will not. This is just between me and you. I'm sorry, Sniper. I like you, but- I guess not so much as you would wish me to."

„Yeah…"

They stood there for a while, in complete silence, watching the stars and feeling broken and ashamed. It was after a long time Spy realized that he was standing there alone.

* * *

 ** _I like the ending. Do you like the ending? I do._**

 ** _Next chapter: Things'll finally start to happen! Oh boy, how I look forward to that._**

 ** _Review anyone? It could boost my productivity, really._**

 ** _Cheers!_**


	5. Chapter 5

I discovered, what's it like to be a decent working human being. You don't have time for pretty much anything. So I finally finished this chapter, although it's pretty short I hope you will like it. :)

* * *

 _I was wondering._

 _I know a nice place._

 _Even for those nice shoes of yours._

 _Is this a date?_

 _Well, yes._

 _Sniper-_

 _I know, I get it._

 _Sniper I'm sorr-_

 _I get it, Spook, now shut your mouth._

 _I know you mean well._

 _Do I?_

 _I like you, really-_

 _Do you?_

 _I do, yes. However-_

 _Then why do you act like this?_

 _Snipe-_

 _Then why don't you want me?_

 _Sniper, please, be r-_

 _Why do you let everyone down, Spook?_

 _Sniper, don't-_

 _Why have you let me down?_

 _I didn't mean t-_

 _Are you afraid of feeling something?_

 _Sniper, please, calm d-_

 _Are you afraid of loving ME?_

 _That's not it-_

 _Are you afraid of LOVING SOMEONE ELSE THAN YOURSELF?!_

 _THAT'S ENOUGH!_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Please._

 _Please don't tell anyone, Spook._

Spy woke up. In the times like this, the dreams would jerk him upright violently, leaving his back soaked in sweat, gasping, his heart racing with the speed of a wild horse. It would leave him scared and lost and disorientated. It would leave him like a scared small prey he would feel.

Not today.

He laid in his bed, his heart racing, yes, but he stayed without a movement. He slowly opened his eyes, staring right into the old ceiling with the paint peeling off of it. He felt his eyes burning.

He was never so emotional before, what was happening to him?

He could tell he was in immense pain. Was that why he didn't move at all? His chest hurt so much, the pressure was nearly unbearable. His throat was constricted and so were his lungs. Was it all because of the mysterious pain? Or was he just sad? Did he regret it? Did he miss the Australian? Was he broken by the dream?

He couldn't tell.

The events of previous day left him exhausted. He was always the one leading the conversation. The one with the perfect answers and sassy comebacks. There was no room for smart words this time. Nothing he could hide behind. It was making him sick. Vulnerable.

Spy let out a trembling, short sigh and rolled to his side-

CRACK.

A lightning of pain struck in his chest and left him frozen in place, his body in agonizing spasm. The air left his lungs, his eyes wide open, as he laid stiffened in his bed.

Breathe.

You have to breathe.

Spy inhaled, sharply, his whole body trembling. He dug his fingers to the blankets below him. Another sharp breath. And another. Once more. More. Bigger one.

CRACK.

Another white burning pain filled his muscles, his veins. Against his will, he took a strong, sharp breath out of sheer terror and agony.

CRACK.

Spy let out a rattling sigh and pressed his right palm on his chest. It hurt. It hurt so much. The pressure. The constant pain.

He didn't want to die.

Raising his hand, a dark crimson blood glistened in the moonlight which made it's way through the translucent curtains. He felt the color spreading over his torso and down his left side. It was warm and cozy. He was feeling comfortable although he was starting to tremble violently. He dipped his fingers in the color once again, just to make sure it was still there.

Oh my, was it hard to think right now.

He had to be in shock. It hurt so much. He had to be in shock.

He had to call Medic.

Yes.

But it hurt so much.

So much.

So…

He had to think straight. There was no room for errors. He had to go to Medic.

So much.

He tried to get up, but the body was not listening. He tried to count, through the pain he tried to count, but the body wouldn't move. Spy let out a frustrated sigh and then moved. Slowly, by a few centimeters, he moved.

It was not enough. He had to do it again.

Trying to move more, his body started to tremble more violently than before. He was nearly there. He needed few more minutes. Few more minutes to sit.

Please, God, give me just a few more minutes.

His body went into spasm seizure again, making him freeze for a few seconds. Then, his body gave up and he fell to his back again.

CRACK.

An anguished groan left Spy's throat and for a few minutes, the pain completely swallowed him. He laid in his bed, catching his breath, trying to breathe.

It hurt so much.

He couldn't breathe.

His sight was getting blurred with each passing second. Spy reached to his chest, slowly he brushed by the gaping wound that, at that time, was continuously bleeding. He didn't know what to do.

The blood.

The wound.

Medic, he remembered.

He had to go to Medic.

His throat constricted, he felt the blood. He felt it in his mouth. He didn't like the taste.

Spy started to cough, spitting blood over his chin and cheeks. He didn't have the will to move his head to the side.

He inhaled. And started to cough again.

Oh my god. He was going to drown in his own blood.

No.

No, please, no.

He had to go to Medic.

He had to.

But he couldn't.

Oh my god. I don't want to die.

Please, I don't want to die.

Another sharp pain burst through his chest.

He couldn't breathe.

He felt the blood pumping through his chest, he heard it dripping on the floor.

He didn't want to die.

I can't breathe.

„Help-"

I can't breathe.

His vision got dark. He couldn't see.

He was suffocating.

I don't want to die.

The pain was immense, his legs moving on it's own as he tried to pump some oxygen into his lungs.

I don't want to die.

I can't breathe.

Mom.

Mom, I miss you.

I wish you were here.

I miss you.

His lungs constricted. His belly hurt. His chest hurt. Everything was on fire.

I miss you.

He wheezed, but couldn't get the lungs working.

I miss you so much.

He felt like burning. Everything burned.

It hurts so much.

I love you, mom.

And then, everything became still.

Spy stood in the centre of his room. He blinked. Once. Twice. He looked around. His hand instinctively raising to his chest, he found no wound. He looked. There was no blood.

He took a deep breath.

He was alright. He was okay. Nothing happened.

It must've been a nightmare.

Yes.

Then why he felt so odd?

Why so cold? He didn't understand. Also, why he was standing in the middle of the room? He couldn't remember ever getting up.

He approached his bed, and then immediately stepped back, his heart racing violently.

It was him. He saw himself in the bed.

But the man in the bed was not moving. The blood-

The blood. The blood was everywhere.

That couldn't be. He couldn't be-

He couldn't be dead. He couldn't. They had Respawn. Respawn would fix him, he was sure of it, it would fix him. He couln't die. It must've been someone else.

But he could see him. He could see himself dead. But it couldn't be.

Then, it hit him. It hit him like a train.

The pain. The blood. He couldn't breathe. Oh god, he was suffocating.

His legs gave up on him and he crashed to the floor, his eyes fixed to himself, on his dead selfon the bed.

What was happening? How was that possible?!

He missed his mom. More than ever.

Was he dead? Was he really dead?

Then why was he still here? How could he look at himself? He should be dead. But then again, he was here. Oh my god. This was messing with his mind so much. He didn't understand. After long time, he didn't understand anything.

He tried to stand up, his legs still wobbly and shaking as he approached the bed and stared at himself. He was scared, and confused and his mind was full of chaos and questions he didn't have answers for.

But somewhere, deep inside him, the small part of him felt calm. It felt comforting. Nothing was going to hurt him anymore. He didn't need to be afraid of anything.

He could let go. He could let go and forget everything. And he could drift away.

But he didn't want to.

And that was the moment the terrors came.

They were quick like a bullet and went after him. Their long, thin arms reached and grabbed his suit and locked their long fingers around his ankles.

„You should come with us! It's better with us! Let go, Léon, come with us!" Their grasp was freezing cold. Spy found himself surrounded by a thick, black fog. He started to jerk from their grasps, kicking the hands away and thumping on their arms. Their heads were twisted and wrong. Like a nightmare.

„I- I don't want to. I want to stay here!" He jerked from yet another grasp. This wasn't right. This was wrong. So wrong. This was not how the Heaven would look like.

But then again, was it really Heaven he was going to?

„Your mother is waiting for you, Léon. Let's go!" The voices got angrier. „Come with us Léon! Your mother needs you!"

„My- my mother?" Suddenly, he gave up on fighting. He missed her. He mised her so much.

„If I go with you, is my mother going to be there?" His voice was trembling. He was hopeful once again. He felt it in his chest. The warm, cozy feeling of hope.

„Yes!" The voices spoke and started to pull Spy into the thick fog, much more happier then few seconds before. „Yes, yes! She is with us! She will be happy to see you!"

„But I don't want to die yet. I have so much to do here," Spy protested. But then again, he could see her again. He could embrace her. Speak with her.

„Dying is the least thing you can do for her, Léon." Spy felt hazy. Everything was slow, the fog was slowly surrounding him. He was starting to loose sight of his room. Of his dead self. He saw her.

Wait. That was wrong.

No, that was wrong. His mother wasn't dead. He knew.

This was all a lie.

„Let go of me." He spoke, his voice sharp and cold.

„Léon, your mother is waiting-"

„I said let. Go. Of. ME!" He yanked and starting to fight them. They were a fog, nothing else. You can fight them. He started to wave his hand violently to get out of their reach. But each time he smeared one of them, more took it's place. He needed to get out of there. Out of the fog.

One step after another. So he took the step.

He slowly started to leave the fog. Although it was hard and he felt hazy and sluggish, he didn't gave up. They are playing with you, he needed to remind himself. They are playing with you. Don't fall for it.

But with each passing step, he was becoming more and more weak. More tired. Was this really worth it? Should he really fight? Maybe they are right. Maybe mom is somewhere out there. Maybe…

He gave up after a while. Spy collapsed to the floor face first and let out a weak groan.

„That's right, Léon. Let go. We will take care of the rest. Don't fight it Léon. Everyone is waiting for you."

The fog surrounded him once more. It filled his nose and his lungs. It filled his mind. He felt nothing. He cared for nothing. He saw nothing.

He couldn't see. The blood. The pain.

Oh no. Not again.

His eyes opened, staring into the nothingness like a terrified prey. He couldn't do this again. He didn't want to.

Nobody was waiting for him there. No one was going to greet him there. Where was „there" once again? He didn't know. And he didn't have the smallest desire to find out.

And then, everything was back to normal. He was in his room, laying on the floor, staring at the legs of his bed, watching the blood drip from the sheets to the floor.

He was dead. He was dead, but he was not going to die. Not completely. He will stay. Stay here and resolve everything he had to.

Spy stood up, now confident, feeling strong. He approached the bed and looked at himself, eyes widened with terror, the mouth opened a bit. Blood everywhere. He grimaced.

„I always 'oped I would leave this world in a… better looking manner. Well," he reached his hand as to close his eyes, but his fingers went through them.

„That 'ad to be expected, I guess."

He stood there, watching himself slowly loose the color in his cheeks, in his arms, in his lips. He stood there and watched his eyes get glassy and murky. They always were of a nice shade of blue. Now they looked like a cloudy sky. He sighed and instinctively reached to his inner pocket for his cigarettes. He found them, a big suprise for him least to say.

He lighted one. At least something stayed. Inhaling the hot smoke, watching himself, his mind drifted away.

This was getting a bit annoying now.

„Spy! Hey, Spy! We are gonna go to the battlefield, man, you should join us!... Smartass! Hey, Smartass!" Another banging on his door. He would open it, but he couldn't. He couldn't grab anything, for god's sake. This was going to be his nightmare.

„Medic! Medic, Spy is not answering! Y'think he's sulking or sumthing? Coz this is getting pretty annoying and I would love to go do some head bashing."

Oh, you tell me what is getting really annoying Scout. Really, nothing could get more annoying than let a kid scream behind your door for the last hour.

Spy was listening to the footsteps closing in. It was the German, he knew, he always knew. He could recognize everyone by the style of their walking. So much for revealing the RED Spy anyway.

„Herr Spy? Are you zhere? We are starting to get a little bit worried about you."

Oh god, this was so, so annoying.

„Herr Spy?"

„Yes, you idiot, I am here and willing to speak with anyone, if they could just HEAR ME!" Least to say, Spy was loosing it.

„Herr Spy, I am coming in. Please, don't be angry."

„Suit yourself, German, I'm not going anywhere." Muttered the Frenchman and leaned against the wall.

The doors opened slowly, followed by Medic's head and after that, the whole Medic. Scout was the first to jump to the room however.

„Hey, lazy ass, time to wake u- HOLY FUCK WHAT THE SHIT OH MY GOD"

„Yes, Scout, nice choice of words." Spy was really amused. He rolled his eyes and lit another cigarette. The funny thing was, the cigarettes never ran out. „I would say the same if I was acting like a five year old."

„Me-med-Medic, fuck, Spy is dead. Fuck. Fuck, Spy's had it. Oh my god. Oh. My. God."

„Well, zhat is really unfortunate." Whispered the doctor in shock and slowly approached the bed. He closed Spy's eyes the first thing, then covered him with a blanket.

„Thank you." Said Spy, although he knew no one was going to heard him.

„We have to tell the guys, man. We. We have to tell them. Oh my god. Who would done such shit. Oh my god. What the fuuuck." Scout was going in the circles, his fingers running through his hair and across his face, massaging his neck.

„Herr Scout, please, try to calm down. Now, you have to go to Engineer and inform him that we need to postpone the fight. Zhe RED team would be in advantage."

„Alright. Alright, I- I'm gonna do that. Ok, Doc, going." Scout stormed out of the door, only quick footsteps indicating he was ever there.

„I never thought you would be so… professional about death of your team member, Docteur." Spy muttered softly and examined the Medic. Had he had tears in his eyes.

„Please, don't get all emotinal with me. This would not suit you. I never liked you in the first place. Too… cold, too sadistic."

„Well, Herr Spy. I hope you are better, wherever you ended up." Medic swallowed a rock in his throat and rubbed his eyes under the rounded glasses.

„You wish, German."

Scout was galloping through the hallways, trying to find Engineer. He needed to tell him. Shit, Engineer was going to be devastated. They were good friends. Shit. Why was it always him that had to bring the bad news.

He turned around the corner in full speed and ran away to something. Or someone. He wasn't sure but he ended up rolling on the floor, cleaning the floor with his face. He started to get up, his vocabulary of choice tailing him.

He finally dragged himself off the floor and looked at the moaning Sniper below him.

„Bloody hell, mate, what is wrong with ya?!"

„I- I don't know man, I'm sorry. I have to go, really, sorry man!"

„Kid," Sniper stopped before the actual rant he was going to give to Scout and observed him a bit. „You look scared. What happened?"

„I-I-I don't know, man. Spy is dead. Spy is dead, man." Scout hiccuped a bit, sudden sadness filling his mind, and he was off in a bit.

Sniper froze in the middle of standing up and stared into the hallway. The world stopped for him. He could hear the reality shatter.

He had to hear wrong. He had to he had to he had to.

Spy was dead.

Sniper took a sharp breath and his throat constricted. His eyes begun to burn.

Spy was dead.

* * *

And that was my emotional rollercoaster. Well, at least for me.

I hope the next chapter will be more optimistic.

Thanks for Eve for the beta read, Grammarly add on to search for the last few mistakes and myself, for keeping it together. And you, for reading, as always.

If you like, leave a review!

Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

**Heyyyy guyyyysss... :**

 **So, here I am, bringing you another chapter. Finally, I know.**

 **I would like to thank Eve for the beta reading as always, Grammarly for their best addon in the world and you, my guys, my kiddos, my friends, my people for your support!**

 **Lana Del Rey - Young and Beautiful ('s recommended)**

* * *

One drop.

Two drops.

Sniper found leftover strength and slowly hoisted himself from the dirty floor he has been lying on in shock. He felt desperate just a while ago. The bushman could have felt his whole body imploding and then exploding to small bits and pieces, each scratching and stabbing and cutting into his skin from inside.

After that, he felt calm. Calm and empty. Everything was hazy, like in some sort of a dream. He stared at the light blue wall, watching his nails digging into the paint and plaster on their own. The paint was old anyway, who would mind if he just added some nice holes to it.

Clenching his teeth, he stepped away from the wall. His palm curled into a fist and collided with the blue paint, crushing it underneath his knuckles, his bones cracking from the crash. His hand hurt, he knew, he just couldn't feel it right now. He was somewhere else. Everything was sluggish, covered in fog. So lazy. His fist left a damaged, cracked spot, with the plaster now peeling from the wall. Sniper's feet started to move on their own, making him wander through the dimly lit corridor. He didn't care where he was going. Everything was hopeless now. He felt like he lost the purpose to his life.

The man he-

The Australian hadn't finished the thought. He didn't want to. No. There will be plenty of time for that later. For contemplating. Now, he just wanted to feel the sudden solitude, as his soul left his body. Or that's how he felt anyway.

Not minding the pulsing in his knuckles and the cold that was seeping through the walls, he wandered like this for what seemed to be hours. All he could think about was the words they exchanged in the yesterday evening.

After all, that was Spy's style, wasn't it? Impress, disappoint and then vanish, as usual. There was nothing Spy could do to surprise anyone anymore. And now he made for his greatest escape of his life. That bastard.

It was somehow quiet without Spy alive. Not that the frog would that talkative or loud as Scout is. It was that second layer of quiet that always surrounded Spy. That mysterious quiet that was seeping from beneath his mask. That gallant quiet that echoed as he walked down the hallways in his precious leather shoes and expensive suit.

He loved Spy's type of quiet. Sniper lost himself to it many times.

Now, everything remaining was the hollow, freezing quiet ricocheting from the walls and making it's way to one's bones. Maybe that was why he felt so empty. There was no Spy-quiet to fill his heart and soul anymore.

As he was walking through the hallways, only the echoes of his footstep keeping him company, his mind finally let him look up and inspect the surroundings. He knew this place, Sniper realized. He knew this place way too good. Then again, this was their base, he knew every nook and cranny of it.

Hesitantly, Sniper made his way further, this time having a clear thought of where he was going. If he would turn right here… And then continued through this hallway. And then turn left here…

He stopped in front of the Spy's room. The door was slightly open, the narrow crack throwing a streak of light at the dirty, faded tiles in the hallway. Sniper didn't want to go in. Why did he come here then? He was so scared. So scared of realizing the truth. He knew that if he wouldn't go to that room, to the Spy's room, it wouldn't be true. Nothing he heard would be true. Spy would be alive and everything would be alright.

 _But I got here. I came here on my own. I have to go there. Or do I?_

The leather boots shuffled against the dark floor in hesitation. Sniper balanced at the edge of the doorstep, hovering in the beam of light. He made a step to the side, his view of the room shifting. His eyes wandered over the sighting of the spacious room until they landed on the pool of red.

Seeing the blood on the clean, wooden floor made his vision blurry. He hesitantly reached his hand for the door. His whole body was shaking, he stared at his fingers as they tried to grab the scratched golden door knob. As they trembled, they were sliding down on the round surface. The Australian took a deep breath and made a quick move to finally grab the knob. His fingers closed around it, feeling the stingy, uncomfortable texture. It was obvious the door knob was used often. Once golden, it's coat was now peeling off in small scales. Sniper let go of it and inspected his palm carefully. Some of the coating ended up biting into his skin. Guess Spy didn't ever mind since he was wearing gloves all the time.

As the Australian stood there, studying the small sunny bits on his palm, picking them off his palm one by one, he realized that the time couldn't be stretched forever. He could stand here, watching his golden palms, hovering at the doorstep, but he couldn't do this forever. The body. They will have to bury the body.

Once again, Sniper reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door. It creaked and cried quietly while opening, revealing the big room.

The walls were covered in stylish blue wallpaper with subtle ornaments and printed wooden-like ledges. The heavy blue curtains weren't covering the windows. That's where all the light came then, realized Sniper. Just now, he was starting to feel and observe things more. He remembered that the hallways were dark and empty. It was strange, but somehow suitable for this… situation.

His eyes observed the room cautiously. Making few steps to the room, ignoring the red puddle and bed on purpose, he ventured throughout the room, looking at everything, picking up every other small thing he found. His pen, his wine glasses. He even touched one of the Spy's suits. He never really touched it, sometimes just brushed over it or tapped it or barbarically held on it as he wanted to mash Spy's face in. He never actually felt the cloth. When he did now, he felt kind of homesick. Homesick for his friend and foe, for his teammate, for his-

No, no, not again. Sniper reached for the hanger with one of Spy's dark blue suits and took it out of the closet. As he was holding it in front of him, he brushed his fingers slowly against the cloth, feeling every thread, remembering the texture. He missed the warmth beneath the cloth, he missed the slightly wrinkled folds of the rising chest. He missed how it whispered when it brushed against him, how it roared as he tore it when fighting with Spy over some banal things.

His hand squeezed the cloth, feeling every fold. Nearing the suit to his face, his lips brushed over the fabric and he smelled Spy cologne mixed with a hint of dust, sweat and sunset cigarettes. His shaking lips smiled a little and Sniper's void, apathetic stare eased and his gaze softened, his eyes suddenly looking at the suit with warm nostalgia, his lips curled into a soft, sad smile. He embraced the fabric, pressing it to his chest and stroking the soft texture.

Standing there, holding the dark blue suit in his hands, he remembered the times he and Spy spent together. Those memories were the dearest of them all, he cherished them, carefully turned them in his mind, observing every last bit of them. He was thinking about the time he first met Spy. The cold look in the Frenchman's eyes, the slight smirk, the way he licked his lips after he exhaled the smoke of his cigarettes. After a while, the cold stare turned to warm gaze, the smirk to a smile. Spy never opened to anyone, but Sniper could feel that when around Spy, the Frenchman didn't have to say anything. Even though he never spoke about his past or future, never opened to him, he knew Spy opened to him silently. And when sharing the silence, it was more than Sniper could ever want in his life.

He wanted to remember Spy like that. Silent, practical, realistic, leaning over the pub's terrace ledge, drowning in the sunset, the crimson and orange light embracing his body as he was smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. He wanted to remember the look Spy gave him when he asked for a smoke and the move of his arm and wrist, and how the suit wrinkled and whispered, and the sound of the case opening and creaking a little as Spy offered him one of his cigarettes. He wanted to remember the small talk they shared, as they stared into the sunset, the light and warmth of reality swallowing them.

He wanted to remember the moment he thought the setting sun would drown them both.

He didn't want to stay in this cold reality that was taking place here and now. He wanted to turn back the time, to stay on the porch, to smoke cigarettes and watch the sunset with Spy at his side.

And God, he didn't want to turn around. He just couldn't.

That thought ricochetted him back to reality like a bucket of ice-cold water. Suddenly, the situation was more than overwhelming. Sniper's legs gave up and he collapsed to the floor, his knees crashing to the floor, leaving a numb pain pulsing in his legs. Sniper bent forward, pressing the cloth to his body, his nose brushing over the fabric, smelling the cologne and dust and smoke and sweat, his lips burying themselves deep into the suit, gently kissing it. His eyes were closed shut, the wrinkles embracing them. He was frowning, and for a few seconds, Sniper looked a lot older beneath the heavy curtain of pain and grief.

His heart felt so heavy and so cold. For a second, he thought he was dying, the deep void swallowing his feelings, crushing his lungs and blocking his throat. He knew he couldn't move, he just couldn't. His gaze went blurry for a moment, so he blinked rapidly to chase away the tears. He couldn't cry. If he would, nothing and no one would make him leave this room. If he started to cry, everything would come crashing down everything would become real. He couldn't let himself cry.

He buried his face to the suit and stayed like that for a couple of seconds. The smell of cologne was calming, so calming he wanted to stay like this forever and slowly suffocate with it. He wanted to never let go of it. The smell brought so many memories with it.

When he finally raised his head, he was calmer, although his breath was still shaking.

He moved jerkily, his legs suddenly very heavy and sluggish.

After few minutes, he hoisted himself up and found himself standing in the middle of the room, with the fists clenching the dark blue suit, his fingers digging deep into the cloth. Sniper felt dreamlike and slow again and decided to leave in a matter of seconds. He is taking the suit. And he is leaving right now. He can't stay here forever. He came to say his goodbyes, and although he couldn't do it, it was enough.

He turned on his heels and stopped, staring at the bed and indistinct shape beneath the blood-stained white blanket.

His heart skipped a few beats. He couldn't breathe and his throat constricted so hard he couldn't even swallow the fear and sudden nausea that kicked him in the stomach. Now, he stood there, unable to move as he stared at the shape of the body, the shape of Spy's head, the blood seeping through the mattress underneath, the crimson path down the bed and the slowly drying pool of brownish red blood.

 _How hard was it for you to die, my friend? Did it hurt?_

Sniper finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat and eased the grasp on the suit. Standing there in shock, watching the body covered by blanket Medic threw over it, Sniper didn't know what to do. He could just leave, he could, but he couldn't move a muscle. The sight of Spy's body was paralyzing.

The Australian took a long, deep breath, exhaling through his mouth, his hands shaking violently. He frowned and licked his trembling lips. With all the will he had left, he made a step forward the bed. And then another. He was closing the distance between him and the body every second, but for Sniper, it was taking hours. The hardwood floor was creaking under his shoes as he made his way to the bed, carefully going around the pool of red.

As he stood by the bed, he didn't know what to do. His hands were shaking and his eyes burning and he didn't want to see Spy like that.

But he had to, hadn't he? For his own sake, to know this is not some kind of sick joke. He had to take off the covers.

He reached for the edge of the blanket, his hand shaking violently. He nearly grabbed it, but then he flinched and lowered his arm to his side.

He had to prepare for this. He saw dead people before. It will not be pretty. Spy will not look the same as he did yesterday.

 _Do you really wanna see him like this? A small goodbye could do._ He heard himself in the thoughts, but still, he reached for the covers again. He grabbed the blanket by the edge and squeezed the cloth tightly.

Then he pulled and took off the cover up to Spy's waist.

Sniper knew it would not be pretty. Still, he hoped Spy would look like he was sleeping. And in some matter, he did.

However, his skin was already pale and his eyes started to sink deeper into his skull. His lips were slightly parted, as he would sigh for the last time. And his eyes were closed. As tears filled Sniper's eyes, he thought if Spy died with his eyes closed or not. Somehow, it mattered a lot.

He reached with his fingers and slowly touched Spy's cheek. The skin was tight and cold, colder than his own. Still, he caressed his cheek and inhaled, his breath shaking and rasping. The tears that were filling his eyes started to pour down his cheeks and dripping on the covers and Spy's bloodied shirt. Sniper faltered and sobbed, immediately covering his mouth with a hand, trying to muffle his grief. After a while, his hand slowly slid down to his chin, his fingers still resting on his shaking lips. He frowned a bit and wailed, his eyes closing shut and digging his fingers deep into Spy's pillow. His legs gave up and he fell to the floor, his head and arms resting on Spy's bed, the blood smearing over his cheeks and lips. He embraced the dead man with one arm and buried his face deep into the blanket, suffocating his wailing as he found himself unable to stop. He was holding Spy tightly around his chest, always tightening the grip when he loosened it, to make sure the body was still there, still there with him. He hid his face in the blankets and rested his head against Spy's side. He let go of the suit and reached for Spy's head, stroking his grey-streaked hair with his fingers ever so softly. He knew the man was never his, and now he would never be. He knew it, but still, he couldn't feel any other way than as he just lost his one and only.

He loved him so much.

So much he would die for that man. So much he would do anything. Right now, he would do anything to make him come back, come back to him, so he could hold him and feel his warmth and hear his heartbeat, his breathing, hear his voice.

Just for the last time, just hear him for the last time, that was everything Sniper wanted right now, as he held onto the Spy's body, his tears making paths in his blood-smeared face. He would give anything to hear Spy again. Anything in the world.

He didn't know how long has he been holding onto Spy. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. Sniper felt weak and fragile. He knew he could fall into pieces just by moving. Somewhere in the distance, a booming voice of Administrator announced a cease-fire, but he could barely hear her. Tears filled his eyes once again and as he started to sob and wail, he felt a soothing cold pouring over his shoulders. He breathed in shakily and swallowed a lump in his throat. His head was aching and his eyes were swollen and he felt dizzy and sleepy. But somehow, he was calm once again. He let go of the Spy's chest. And he stopped stroking his hair.

He turned over and sat down by the bed. His palm landed in something thick and sticky. When he rose it to his eyes, it was covered in drying blood. Apathetically, he lowered the hand once again, dipping it in the pool of blood again, and stared at the wall in front of him. His arm and side were warm for some reason, but he didn't mind. He closed his eyes and slowly sighed, as he would part with his soul.

After some time, Sniper, weakened by his broken heart, fell asleep.

* * *

Spy lit a cigarette. Inhaling the sharp smoke, his vision shifted to his left, where the Sniper was sitting, his head resting on his chest, tilted slightly to the side. His lips were parted as he breathed in and out and his eyelids were getting a bit swollen from the irritation. Sniper's tears left narrow trails on his blood-smeared cheeks.

The Frenchman moved his thumb and slowly stroke the back of Sniper's hand. Then he slowly let go of it. He held his hand until the bushman fell asleep. After that, there was no need to continue in it.

He turned his sight away from the Australian and exhaled. Watching the tip of the cigarette slowly burning away, his vision somehow focused on the background, where his table stood, with all it's fancy pens and expensive notepapers. He felt so, so irritated when Sniper started to touch his things. And he felt awkward too. It wasn't easy to just stand in the middle of the room and look at your teammate (who expressed his feelings to him just yesterday, Mon Dieu!) to touch your things with their dirty, kangaroo fingers. The thing that irritated Spy the most was he couldn't do anything about it. He could scream at the bushman, he could whine, he could try to kick him or just backstab him, it would mean no difference. Spy discovered soon enough that his… „friends" couldn't see nor hear him.

The Frenchman turned his head a bit and looked at Sniper.

He felt irritated, ashamed and uncomfortable that the bushman was here, sitting next to his corpse, and he was asleep. Moreover, Spy couldn't take the feelings that he was left with after Sniper finally stopped whining and crying.

„To put up a show like that, you should be ashamed, bushman," Spy muttered under his breath and breathed in the cigarette smoke again. The anxious, irritated feeling still stuck with him.

Then again, somewhere in the far back of his mind and heart, so deep that even Spy would consider that he is imagining things, there was a relief and a hint of gratitude. He would never consider himself, well, dying, and he never asked himself who would be there left to remember him. In this field of work, there never was a space for such things. There never was the need for it.

And although he knew that he would be remembered, Spy knew all too well he might be easily forgotten too. And he didn't want to admit it and ruin his pride, but Spy didn't want to be forgotten. He didn't want to watch people slowly forgetting him.

He didn't want to disappear like that.

Spy lowered his hand and slowly, bit by bit, took Sniper's hand into his again. He stroke it gently as he drifted in his thoughts and smoked. The sound of the Australian breathing somehow filled his mind with peace.

There still was at least one person that will not forget him.

Spy lowered his gaze to their intertwined fingers and gently squeezed the Australian's hand.

„I am… I apologize, Sniper." Spy started, feeling his eyes burn slightly.

„I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

* * *

 **Thank you once again for reading and helping me getting new chapters done! I love you all!**

 **If you would like, I will from now on post some illustrations for On the Other Side to my tumblr .com! If you would like, you can check it there! It will also be under #OnTheOtherSideIlustrations!**

 **Cheers!**


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